


Meet Me on the Bridge

by KasmiKassim



Series: Crossing Chances [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Cultural Differences, Drama, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Language Barrier, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Misunderstandings, Multi, Pining, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Slash, Romantic Friendship, Slash, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasmiKassim/pseuds/KasmiKassim
Summary: People often ask Javier how he and Yuzuru understand each other so well, language barrier and all.The truth is: they don’t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I didn't know these people existed before I saw the Free Skate in the Olympics several weeks ago, and then it tickled me so much that I had to get it out of my system. Forgive me for not going into canonical detail as I only had like a week to write this up. PLEASE EVERYONE GIMME FANFICS SO I DON'T HAVE TO WRITE MY OWN TO QUENCH MY THIRST FOR THESE FOLKS OK THANKS.

Meet Me On The Bridge

By Kasmi Kassim

1.

People often ask Javier how he and Yuzuru understand each other so well, language barrier and all.

The truth is: they don't.

The ice is their common field of gravity, so they learn to orbit around each other as to avoid collision. One would think that with the parallels in their lives, it would be easy. But the chasm between them is deceptively deep, and sharp as a blade. This becomes evident when one day the boy looks at Javier with an amused smile as Javier explains something.

"Your hand," he says, "many…move. Scare look." He bursts into laughter when Javier looks indignant.

English is the bridge they must meet on, so Javier doesn't blame the boy for flocking with the Japanese. But what does surprise him is how he flocks with the Koreans and Chinese as well. They share an unspoken code. The deep bows, the skimming hands that never truly touch. The short, uneasy hugs. The blank smiles before the camera. The body is kept inward, carefully guarded. All meanings are delivered through words alone.

So it's a little surprising that Yuzuru glides readily into his open arms with a gleeful laugh. He wonders if Yuzuru, like himself, also watches, and adjusts.

Javier is determined to do this right, because he doesn't have the words to repair what goes wrong. So he learns to read the unspoken before stepping on their shoddy bridge. When Yuzuru falters on camera, Javier sneaks around the back and calls for an interpreter. When the boy falls on an axel and stays on his back, Javier pulls him up into his arms where the boy can bury his face into his shirt and scream in embarrassment while he laughs. They learn each other's steps, clumsy and in sync, like the steps of a pairs team. It's a language of their own that belongs to no one else. The boy hugs him and smacks him in the back when words fail him. Javier, in turn, give him deeply exaggerated bows, and the boy humors him.

He learns that the boy can land a denial as well as he lands his jumps.

"I won't be back for a while," he says when he leaves to visit family. "See you in a few months?"

The boy quickly shakes his head. Javier wonders at it, but the shut eyes and bowed head speak a language he understands. Warmth blooms in his heart, and he answers by encasing the boy in his arms. Perhaps the distance between isn't so unbridgeable after all.

,

,

It's startling to watch him change for the cameras, as if flipping a coin. His voice deepens, his constant movements stilling to calm. His face becomes a smooth veneer and Javier feels as uncomfortable with it as ill-fitting boots on his feet. It is not easy to understand the societal rules that mold this change, but he thinks it helps him understand Yuzuru a bit better. His whiny complaints, his big ridiculous laughs, and desperate hugs. Everything is unleashed on the ice, and maybe that's why he loves the ice so much, and cloisters himself where he can be free to be undefined.

The public, however, insists on defining him.

"He's so arrogant," says a man while he's signing his shirt. "All these white people fetishizing him is gross. They don't know what he looks like to someone who knows all the cues. He's so two-faced."

Javier wants to defend Yuzuru, he really does, but he can't mount a defense when he doesn't understand the attack.

It's easy to make friends with language barriers. Speak baby babble, make some comical gestures, and share some laughter. There are no deep philosophies or personal pet peeves that fill in the blanks. Javier is old enough to be content with the barriers; being cloistered together as they are, competing against one another, it is dangerous to get to know them too much. He prefers to go on liking everyone.

But for Yuzuru, he makes an exception, because how do you say no when a boy with messy baby hair and crescent-moon laughing eyes asks you to go to an ice cream parlor after practice because Mom's out of town? The kid is young, alone, and looks so uncertain. Javier leads the way.

They struggle to communicate. Javier is mostly smiles and laughs and patient nods; the boy is mostly strained babble, animated hands (do Japanese people do that? Yuzuru implied that they don't.), and frustrated glares at the ceiling. At last he grabs Javier by the shoulder and shakes him with a whine. That's how Javier learns what this language is: trust.

It's as if a door has opened to show a glimpse of another world; what other cues had he been missing? He wonders how much of their flimsy bridge is sturdy enough to walk on.

"He's so humble!" squeal a pair of white women who catch him on his way for coffee and ask for Yuzuru's autograph. And Javier wants to laugh, because the boy has many charms, but personal humility is not one of them. With fragile lungs and slender limbs, perhaps it's only natural that his mightiest weapon is fierce confidence.

He teases Yuzuru about it nonetheless, when he returns to his hotel room to find him hiding in it.

"Everyone act that in Japan. If don't, people say bad." The boy flops over in bed as the character of his mobile game dies. "Just habit."

Javier watches the flock of women at the hotel entrance below. The balcony window is cold to the touch. The fans must be freezing, he thinks. "Everyone?"

"Everyone." Yuzuru restarts the game. "Can't make mistake. Must act same. So, all interview same. Unique bad; bad Japanese person. Confident bad. Need pretend humble."

It's the first time he's heard anyone say anything negative about this culture, much less coming from a person of that culture. He wonders how much darkness lies beneath the smooth exterior of his bows. He looks down at the Japanese girls pushing against the guards, and asks, "but isn't it cultural? I mean, bowing and being humble, it's respectful, right? Being a part of the community?"

Yuzuru makes a skeptical sound, and the room fills with game sounds again. "Not black and white, Javi."

"What do you mean?"

The gray skies are darkening. Javier wonders if it will snow. He thinks he sees a puff of white floating around, but isn't sure.

Yuzuru's character dies again, and Yuzuru lowers his phone to look out the balcony with Javier.

"Family important," he murmurs. "Respect older, good. But not everything good." He frowns. "Just family important. Or, just respect older, even if older bad do. Can't say how think." His shoulders hunch, and he rests his head on one of Javier's pillows. "Foreigners say just good, because they no bad result. Don't have to. We don't say. So they think just good." He stares far into the gray skies outside. "Not black and white," he says into the pillow. "There good and bad, in all culture."

Javier has never heard Yuzuru talk in such subdued tones. His every breath feels wispy, as if he'd disappear into the gray of day. He wonders what other somber thoughts the boy harbors beneath his childlike haircut and howling laughter.

"I thought your Japanese values were admirable," he admits. "Was I being…naïve?"

Yuzuru chuckles into his pillow. "Your culture good too." He perks up, eyes brightening. "Free. Say how think. Everyone brave. And kind." He nods, beaming so brightly that it warms the shadowed room. "Like Javi."

Javier smiles. "I never saw it that way, I guess."

Yuzuru chuckles as he restarts the game. "Not see, when only know one," he says generously. "Other always look good, if not know."

It is as if a sliver of light has come between then, illuminating a world of possibilities.

In halting English, Yuzuru speaks of a sea of screams and wails. Javier speaks of hunger and loneliness. They hide in the break room and share a snack before Yuzuru has to go home. Moments accumulate, repeating with small variations, strengthening like muscle memory.

But no matter how much they learn to speak, some things simply cannot be told.

"Is Hanyu gay?" A Spanish fan asks while Javier autographs his hand. He drops his pen and makes a sprawling mess on his arm. He apologizes, tries to rub it out, realizes that he's making things worse, and gives up altogether. The fans are giggling and exclaiming around him. "He's not gay," cry a chorus of Japanese girls from the side. "He's man! Just beautiful man."

Javier knows that he's universally viewed as attractive. Just pale enough, just dark enough in the right places, just the right proportions on his face. But Yuzuru? The things people say about Yuzuru are as stark as night and day. Javier ignores the vitriol, of course, but even the compliments – "he looks like an anime character!" – make him uncomfortable. He casually comments to Yuzuru about it, and Yuzuru answers in perfect seriousness: "Yes, and Javi look comic book hero."

"I do not," Javier says, aghast.

"I don't look anime too." Yuzuru frowns while unlacing his boots. "Why people say that?"

"I don't know." Javier falters. "Maybe they haven't met enough Japanese people?"

"Just make up," Yuzuru says wisely. "Always, make up how other people image, instead of learn. See other country people simple, like anime character. It's lazy."

Javier applies this lesson to the questions that get asked his way – why do they ask him anyway? – about Yuzuru's sexuality, and chalks it up to projection. He has interacted with other Asian skaters, after all. Before his enlightening conversation with Yuzuru, he had initially assumed them all gay as well, until Maia rolled her eyes and informed him that gayness is so invisible in Asia that men have no need to fear being seen as such. Hence all the touching.

He doesn't know if that's supposed to be a good thing.

He doesn't really get the way Maia explains it, because it's too full of big words like "gender performance" and "hypermasculinity" and this sounds like an American thing maybe, but he's not sure. He wants to ask Yuzuru, but it's not exactly something he can ask in person, improved English or no.

Not that he suspects anything, because the boy barely looks like he's had time to notice his own puberty. So what if he likes to perch on Misha's lap or hug Alex or cling to Javier? He likes people, and he doesn't do things halfway. He's as stark as the comments that swirl about him: when there's a party, he's the life of it; when things are quiet, he is silent and alone. His performances attest to his inner deafening silence; he doesn't seem to give two shits about what people think when he performs.

For example, what people think of the things he wears on the ice.

"How you think?" Yuzuru says, spinning a little in his newest costume. "Little loose, maybe." He pulls at the backside where a splash of ombre darkens like sunset.

"Um," Javier says. It's looser than his previous skintight costume, but that isn't saying much. And the deep cut of the chest and back, and the sinuous drape around his collarbones, look almost obscene. He's grateful that the pants at least are dark and hide all the curves, but they really do make those long legs look, uh—

He mentally slaps himself. "It's a little revealing, no?" he manages.

"Ah, Javi," Yuzuru snickers. "Nothing hide under skating clothes anyway."

He watches the boy glitter in costumes designed by his hero, who had danced with eyes set to the heavens, transcendent like a celestial bird. And watching Yuzuru arch with eyes uplifted, he cannot help but wonder if Yuzuru also looks into a world not of this making, a freer place that belongs to him alone.

He really hopes not, because the boy deserves happiness, and if he has to choose love of the ice and love of his life, what kind of life is that?

He goes to sleep that night with an ache in his heart for those who will never truly be free to be who they are. His Russian brothers and sisters, and his Asian brothers and sisters, whose time of freedom are limited to athletic youth and chilling ice. He tries not to think of Yuzuru.

Of course, he would be so lucky.

"You know what I miss most about skating?"

Mateo is here. Once a training mate turned dropout, he visits using his connections to watch the skaters. Javier humors him: "The jumps?"

"Being surrounded by so many fine bodies." Mateo's eyes follow Yuzuru, who skates by like a whirlwind. "Especially in black tights," he says as Yuzuru throws himself into the air.

Yuzuru stumbles, so it takes a second for Javier to digest what he just heard. "Jesus, Mateo."

"What, he yours?"

"No!"

"Then what's the problem?"

Javier doesn't have the words. He watches Yuzuru pick himself up, muttering, and skate by again with an angry rush of winds.

"Fierce little vixen," Mateo smiles. "They're the best. Did you see his hips move?"

Javier did see his hips move, thank you very much, and would like to scrub the memory of that dance class from his brain altogether. "I didn't know you were gay," he says instead.

Mateo raises an eyebrow. "Who isn't, a little bit?"

Right. Mateo was American.

Javier wants to reply, but then Yuzuru launches himself into the air all wrong – too tired, wrong angles, not enough height. Javier watches with dread as he stumbles out of the spin and crashes into a wall. Yuzuru slowly rolls over and rises to his hands and knees, shoulders heaving and head bowed like a broken doll.

"Hot," whistles Mateo.

Javier is about to hurry onto the ice, but Tracy and Brian beat him to it. Then he registers what Mateo has said. "He could be hurt, for Christ's sake."

"That's what makes it hot." Mateo grins. Javier turns to look at him, seething with a fury he can't quite place. Before he can articulate, Yuzuru glides toward them, still breathing hard.

"Yuzu, you ok?"

Yuzuru nods, eying Mateo. "Friend?"

Mateo holds out his hand. "Mateo, Javier's ex."

"Nice to meet you," Yuzuru says politely, taking Mateo's hand. "Ex?" he looks at Javier.

"Ex partner," Javier corrects.

"Exactly," smirks Mateo. Javier wants to hit him.

"Ah," Yuzuru nods emphatically. "Understand."

Mateo releases his hand, only to grasp his shoulder. "You okay?"

Yuzuru smiles breathlessly. "Just," he says, "asthma." He closes his eyes. "Be okay soon."

"There now," Mateo says, and tugs, causing the boy to go gliding into the crook of his arm. "I'd like your take on this, child genius. Javi and I are discussing beauty and pain."

"Eh?" Yuzuru blinks at Javier.

Javier does not like where this is going, or how Mateo's fingers are dancing on Yuzuru's collarbone. "Don't listen to him, Yuzu."

"But don't you think," Mateo presses, "that all the good stuff comes with pain? Sex, art, athletics, you know. Excellence and beauty come from blood, sweat, and tears."

Javier responds like a knee jerk. "Sex doesn't have to be pain!"

"Spoken like a true top," Mateo smirks.

Javier is horrified, and Yuzuru looks confused. "Top?"

Javier realizes that Tracy and Brian are staring at them. He lowers his voice. "Yuzu, things don't have to be terrible to be worth it. No pain, no gain, all that is not healthy."

"But it is what makes a champion." Mateo curls his fingers on Yuzuru's skin. "What do we care for twelve-year-olds skating to Romeo and Juliet? Our champion here can touch our hearts because he knows heartbreak. He knows how to bleed."

"Okay, that's enough—"

"Yes," Yuzuru cuts in, looking at Javier with a face as unreadable as in those Japanese interviews. "I agree."

Before Javier can recover from the shock, Yuzuru skates away. Mateo leaves with a smirk and a promise to return.

,

,

He mulls it over while watching Yuzuru dance. He moves with maturity and grace for someone so young. The music swells, and Yuzuru arches with abandon, and Javier wonders how much of him he really knows.

He asks Yuzuru to make time for dinner. Yuzuru takes a few days to maneuver his schedule around his mother, but manages at last.

"So, life is pain, huh?" he starts after he's finished his food. Yuzuru is unusually slow to eat.

Yuzuru chews without looking up. "Good thing have price."

"Hey, that's not true." He waves at the twilight outside. "Look at that. That's free. And us. Friendship, and love, and family. All the best things are free."

Yuzuru looks up. "Is it reason you buy dinner?" he says curiously. "You worry my thinking?"

"Well, kinda," Javier admits. "I mean, you have a lot of happy moments, right? And that's what life is made of. When you're skating, you're happy, right? When you're with family, and hey, like us right now. Aren't you happy? I am."

Yuzuru looks down. "Yes," he says softly. "Javi always make me happy." He takes a deep breath. "Javi is right. Many good thing free." He smiles to himself, determined. "I should happy."

Javier's heart soars to watch Yuzuru smile again. But it crashes when Yuzuru murmurs, "but love not free."

"What? You have so many fans that would die—"

"Fan don't know me," Yuzuru says severely. "They never see, and say want marry. Send photos I don't want see, share photo I don't want show. Chase me, bother, take, and take. They make up other person." He takes another bite, and chews as if chewing sand. "Not real. Not love."

Javier doesn't know how to respond to that. He doesn't like this bitter side of Yuzuru. The boy should be shining, beloved.

Before he can think up a way to cheer him up, Yuzuru rescues him. "It's okay," he says, "I don't need. I like Javi best."

"Thanks." Javier reaches out to ruffle his hair. "Speaking of liking," he says, "sorry about assuming. That you never, you know."

Yuzuru bites into his sandwich, looking down. "It's okay. Everyone assume. Because I'm young and never date."

"But there is someone?" Javier arches his brow.

Yuzuru chews determinedly. "Just you."

Javier rolls his eyes with a laugh. "All right, be that way."

Teenage crushes and their shy secrets. He fondly watches Yuzuru burrow into his sandwich, and reaches to grasp an elbow. "Seriously, though," he says, "later, when you meet someone special, like really special, you introduce me, okay?"

Yuzuru sniffles into his food without a word.

A thought strikes. "Say, Yuzu, why don't you do some social media?" he says brightly. "Throw your fans a bone, and they'll leave you alone maybe. Give you some breathing room, and who knows? You'll find your Juliet, if you have more privacy."

Yuzuru stops chewing. Yuzu doesn't like sandwiches, Javier suddenly remembers.

"No," Yuzuru says.

"Really? I think it could help sate some thirsty stalkers—"

"No." Yuzuru looks up, and his eyes are red-rimmed and fierce. "Too much dangerous. Must showing more and more." He swallows bitterly. "I skate because I want to fly. I want…make beautiful. People say something about skate, it's okay. But my life, I must secret. People hate me, it's okay too. But not my Romeo." He takes a deep breath. "My important person, I protect. Must." He rises and sweeps the trash off the table, and walks away.

Javier stares as Yuzuru tosses everything into the bin, and leans against it, back toward Javier, pushing at his eyes. The seed of doubt had been blooming into suspicion with each sentence, but this is nothing short of a screaming admission. There is no reading between the lines; Yuzuru has lain himself bare.

He approaches Yuzuru, and gently embraces him from behind. "Thanks for telling me, Yuzu."

Yuzuru takes a quivering breath. Javier turns him around. "I'm always here for you, you know."

The boy looks away stubbornly. "But Javi feel different."

"Doesn't matter. We can feel differently about it, I'm still gonna be here for you."

Yuzuru doesn't answer. At long last, he breathes shakily, and buries his head into Javier's chest. "Love difficult," he whispers. "It not free."

But he clings to Javier anyway, and that's enough.

,

,

It makes him treasure Yuzuru in a new way.

It's no wonder he is always snuggling up for comfort. Javier can understand the loneliness that may drive him to cling to other men – women are off limits after all, in his fiercely hetero society – young and lonely as he is. And the others seem to understand; they hold him as gently as Javier does, because who wouldn't?

He mingles with star-struck Misha, who shamelessly brags about how the great Hanyu gave him a hug. He lets burly skaters twirl him around. He lets skaters, young and old, male and female, post his photos for their three seconds of social media fame, lets them take his halo and wear it as their own. He blows kisses to the girls, dances masculine seduction, and acts well, if only by his society's making. And Javier watches him paint strokes upon that ice, shades and splashes of emotions that can never be spoken, and pulls him into his arms afterwards.

Yuzuru seems to understand the language of comfort. He holds out his hands behind him in blind trust, and Javier catches up with him to hold them. He lets Javier pull him gently by the nape of his neck, lean forehead against forehead, cover his temples and create a shield of silence amid the arena's roar as he trembles like a baby bird and lets out shuddering sobs. Javier may not be able to shield him from the world, but he can shield him here, in that silence between the world's cacophony and his lonely fights on the ice.

"Yuzuru Hanyu, first place."

Javier watches from behind the wall as the boy chirps with joy, all awkward limbs and happy smiles with the world unwittingly in his hands. It aches to know that his Olympic chance has slipped through his fingers, but he comforts himself with Yuzuru's triumph. After all, if the boy has to give up at least one love, he deserves to snatch the other one.

Yuzuru is not so good at giving comfort. He comes trotting off the ice, looking sad and hesitant, not trusting the bridge they stand on. So Javier, being the adult of the two, crosses it for him.

"I'm so proud of you, Yuzu."

The boy clings to him, as always, and cries.

Yuzuru visits his hotel room that night. They lie in bed and watch replays on the broadcast channels, and Yuzuru cringes while Javier laughs, buzzed with the wine the boy had brought for his sake.

"Terrible jump," Yuzuru complains.

"Still won gold," Javier smiles.

"Not good." Yuzuru groans. "Shame medal."

"Hey, don't complain. Some of us don't even have medals."

Yuzuru looks at him guiltily, and Javier ruffles his hair to show that no offense is taken. Yuzuru brightens.

"We train hard when we back," he says. "We go next Olympic."

"Whoa there, slow down. I'll be an old man by then."

Yuzuru looks at him disapprovingly. "Don't be lazy, Javi."

Javier groans. "I'm already old."

"No!" Yuzu shakes his head, quick and fierce. "No, Javi. No, you train! We train together! We go again together!"

"Yuzu…"

"I need—" Yuzuru opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "I need," he tries, and fails. He looks away. "Don't go away," he whispers.

His fingers are clinging to Javier's sleeve, and Javier capitulates, of course. Without him, who will be there for little Yuzu?

That night, putting his arm around limp noodle-like limbs dressed in his spare clothes, he wonders if Yuzuru would have finished his sentence if he could find the words in English.

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

Meet Me On The Bridge

By Kasmi Kassim

2.

As his popularity heightens, so does Yuzuru's desperation when he flees to the practice rink every morning. Javier greets him with sympathy, but one day he walks in to find Mateo there, and Javier feels betrayed. As if the club had failed to protect Yuzuru somehow.

He glides toward the tuft of hair sticking out from behind Mateo's arms. "Yuzu!"

Yuzuru peeks around Mateo. "Javi!" he waves with his usual enthusiasm, and barrels past Mateo to leap into Javier's arms. Javier laughingly sweeps the boy off his feet and spins him around until there is furious smacking on his back with a "Javi, can't breathe."

Mateo joins him during break. "Changed your mind?"

Javier keeps his eyes trained on Yuzuru. "I'm not gay."

"So you won't care if I do him."

Javier whips around. "You touch him and see how much I don't care," he all but snarls.

Mateo looks amused. "So you don't deny the gay part."

"He's just a kid!"

"Sure, a 20-year-old world champion is a kid." He watches Yuzuru sprint across the ice. "That," he muses, "would be some notch on the belt."

Javier debates punching him right there and then, but Yuzuru interrupts by looking his way and waving. He puts on a smile and waves back. "You leave him alone," he warns.

"Jesus, you act like I'm gonna tie him up and do ungodly things in his sleep." Mateo rolls his eyes. "If you haven't noticed, he hasn't exactly been resisting."

"He's Japanese!" Javier hisses. "He's too polite to say no."

Mateo barks a laugh. "Wow, seriously? I feel sorry for your poor friend."

Javier turns to Mateo, but a loud crash interrupts them both. Yuzuru is crumpled at the edge of the ice; Mateo bounds out, calling if he's okay. Javier is too shaken to follow; he watches Mateo hoist Yuzuru up and drape him on his bulging bicep. Yuzuru pants against it, and looks at Javier.

Javier hurries across the ice, as if called by a siren. Yuzuru shifts his weight to come tumbling into his arms.

"Stop thinking so much," Javier chides gently, stroking Yuzuru's hair. "You're gonna do fine."

Nodding, Yuzuru straightens at last, and skates away to where Brian is wearing his heart attack face.

"I saw where your hand went," Javier mutters.

"It didn't go where yours doesn't."

"That's different."

"Oh, please." Mateo gives a disdainful look. "At least he's straightforward. You're a real closet case, you know that? Shit or get off the pot, Fernandez."

It's preposterous, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth nonetheless. He washes off the feeling by going back out onto the ice to mother Yuzuru, who escapes his cooing to circle him and laugh about how Javi is old and needs longer breaks. It does cheer him up somewhat when he gets Yuzuru into a headlock and makes him squeal.

,

,

He tries not to think about it, but it comes back with a vengeance every time they train. Had Yuzuru really been receptive to Mateo's flirting? He knows nothing about Yuzuru's experience with this kind of thing. How much of it is appropriate for him to bring up, or even think about? How much can he assume?

He still cannot bring himself to believe that Yuzuru is anything but oblivious. He is probably receptive to all the touching, because…well, because Javier is touching him like that all the time.

He hates for Mateo to be right, but if it's his fault that Yuzuru goes around trusting the wrong people, he's ready to admit it. He wastes no time in finding Yuzuru in the locker room.

"Hey, Yuzu. Remember Mateo?"

Yuzuru starts, wrapping himself in a towel. "Yes?"

Javier frowns at the wet towel. Yuzuru is shy about stripping in public. It's weirdly un-Japanese of him, something distinctly Yuzu. He averts his eyes so that Yuzuru can put on clothes. "Has he been bothering you recently?"

"Bother me?" Yuzuru's voice is muffled inside his shirt. "No? He nice. Came yesterday, before you come. He say I skate beautiful."

It's the correct observation, but Javier is not happy. Yuzuru notices. "Why? You two fight?"

"No, I just." Javier suddenly feels self-conscious. "I noticed that he touches you a lot, so I wondered."

Yuzuru sounds confused as he laces his shoes. "But Javi touch me more."

Oh Christ, he knew it. "But that's different. I," he clears his throat.

"I know," Yuzuru interrupts, sharply.

Javier blinks. What?

He feels like he missed a step somewhere, but can't tell where. Before he can recalibrate, Yuzuru braces his hands on his thighs, leaning forward on the bench. Gathering courage.

"Mateo asked me for date."

Javier feels like he's falling.

"He say he like me a lot." Yuzuru is staring at a point near Javier's knee. "He watch me since I come to Toronto. He want to cook dinner."

"At his apartment?" Javier squeaks.

Yuzuru nods, grim.

"Are you going to..?" Javier's vision goes white. "Are you – do you like him that way?"

"I don't know. Never think about. But maybe, not bad." He looks up at last, face carefully blank. "How Javi think?"

Javier manages to gather his wits. "Why does it matter what I think?"

Yuzuru looks at him with a flare of resentment. But then he looks away, defeated. "You know," he whispers.

Javier is no longer sure they're speaking the same language. There's something trembling in the air, and every step feels risky. "You won't go if I say no?"

Yuzuru nods. There's no hesitation. "I not go if Javi say no."

It's staggering, the weight of this trust. Javier doesn't know what to do with it but to handle it as an adult should. "You should go," he croaks, "if you want."

Yuzuru looks down at his shoes and says nothing. At last he pushes himself off the bench, lips set in a grim line. "I understand," he says, and leaves the locker room.

,

,

The night that Yuzuru says he's going to Mateo's place for dinner, Javier doesn't get any sleep. The thought of Yuzuru sitting at Mateo's table, perfectly aware of his intentions, is still too shocking to digest. Yuzuru, laughing with Mateo. Letting him touch his face, kiss him even. Or perhaps more.

He snaps out of bed and paces. It's dark, but dawn is near.

Why do you care? He whispers fiercely to himself. Yuzuru is an adult.

The word feels sour against his tongue. Since when had Yuzuru become an adult? The chasm between them feels startlingly deep. When did little Yuzu stop needing his Javi?

He watches morning blue seep into the midnight sky, and gives up on sleep. He heads to the rink.

Music is blasting when he arrives.

Yuzuru is storming the ice. Clad in skintight black, lean muscles and sinuous curves, he spins hot like a black star. He kicks off into the air, and Javier watches, breathless, as he comes out with a triumphant flourish. He is no trembling baby bird but a mighty crane, solitary and majestic.

Oh, Javier thinks stupidly. Oh, he realizes, and his breath leaves his chest.

Yuzuru comes to a stop. Shoulders heaving and sweat glistening pale, his eyes meet Javier's with unspoken promises, like the dark infinity of a universe not yet in the making.

Javier had never stood a chance.

He skates to him slowly, like a planet drawn by gravity. He stills before him, and their eyes meet at equal height.

The air crackles with inevitability, ready for a shift. Javier's hand cups Yuzuru's cheek, and slowly traces his jaw and slides down his neck where a slender body ripples with coiled energy. Yuzuru watches, eyes dark and magnetic.

Javier swallows. If he falls now, there is no way out of this collapse. He will crash and burn blind. And he can't – he can't do that to Yuzu.

It's what makes him painfully pull his hand away.

"Good job," he whispers.

He all but flees into brightening dawn, mumbling excuses he can't remember. All he remembers is a slender black figure standing on the ice, alone and still, as he slams the door.

,

,

Javier worries.

He bites his nails and paces and worries and screams into his pillow, because he has no idea what to do. What has he done? What was he thinking? Why didn't Yuzuru stop him?

It's not fair, he knows, but Yuzuru had allowed the moment to hang precipitous. He could have snapped Javier out of it, laughing, talking, anything – but he had stood still in electric silence, knowing –

Javier sits up. Yuzuru knew.

This is what the boy had meant in the locker room. He was letting him down easy. Hinting about Mateo. He said he knew. He knew before Javier himself knew. Javier feels young, clumsy, like he has fallen behind and can't see what's ahead of him anymore.

He doesn't know how to bring it up. Or should he even bring it up? Yuzu had told him about his preference for men in the subtlest way possible, and he had let him down in the same manner. Perhaps it's a Japanese thing. Perhaps talking about this – hey, I realized that I am in lust with you – is simply not done.

He screams into his pillow again; he can't decide what to do.

Yuzuru decides for him.

He stays behind one day to watch Javier train. Javier is so conscious of it that he puts too much pressure on his spin and falls flat on his face. He is, and always has been, attuned to Yuzuru with every fiber end of his nerves.

He is so screwed.

The rest of practice goes by in a blur. The clock ticks toward his moment of dread, until Yuzuru joins him on his way out. "Walk together?"

The night is dark and cold. Yuzuru buries his face in his scarf. Javier stays silent, rehearsing what he is going to say. Something something attraction –

"Javi," Yuzuru says when they stop at the station. He turns to Javier, eyes darting around, and fiddles with his scarf. "You…not like me anymore? Because I…go Mateo's house?" He looks up, eyes lit with terror. "You think I…dirty?"

"What? No. Dios, no!" Javier kicks himself for not anticipating this. "I would never, Yuzu." Part of him welcomes the opportunity to ask what happened that night, and he forcefully tells that voice to take a seat.

"Then why—" Yuzuru trails off. Rather than relieved, he looks even more frightened. "You avoid," he says at Javier's collar. "Is it – because my feeling? Are you…uncomfortable?"

"What," Javier says, stupidly.

He had forgotten. Yuzuru was in love with a man. A man that wasn't Javier. Silence crashes in his ears.

Yuzuru looks away into the darkness. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I shouldn't said. I want us be friends. I want – us happy together, in podium, in Barcelona."

Javier wants to cry for both of them. He's too late, and it feels like a cruel joke.

And yet here stands little Yuzu, thinking that Javi judges him, apologizing for being in love with someone else, taking it upon his shoulders to fix it. Javier wants so much to be selfish then, but little Yuzu needs him to be the adult. He gently pries Yuzuru's fingers off of his scarf.

"Yuzu, it's not that. I'm sorry." He hopes his voice is soothing, because his heart is crunching inside. "I was just…trying to get my feelings straight."

Yuzuru stares at his shoes, and Javier lifts up his chin. "Hey, nothing's changed, okay? No matter who you like, you're still my Yuzu."

"Still your," Yuzuru's lips quiver. His eyes are thick with unshed tears.

Then he looks away and rubs his eyes. "Okay," he breathes, stepping back, and collides into a large man hurrying up the steps. The man exclaims, grabs Yuzuru by his waist, and sets him upright like a paper doll before hurrying away.

Javier herds Yuzuru backwards against the wall, protectively covering his body with his own. The boy's scarf is undone from the fiddling. Yuzuru watches Javier rearrange the scarf, and he's silent and gleaming like a ghost under the white station lights, and Javier can't stand it. He rubs the boy's face with his hands to try to bring some color back into it.

Yuzuru closes his eyes. "Javi," he whispers, "you're so bad."

"Sorry." Javier pulls him into his arms to spare him the sight of him falling apart, and Yuzuru smacks him in the back until it sizzles out the unspoken. Javier looks up into the dark sky.

Yuzuru was right. Love was pain.

But there is no language that will make Yuzuru his, so he responds with smiling emojis when Yuzuru texts that night to complain about packing, and promises to meet on the podium in Barcelona.

Yuzuru had gathered the courage to cross this squeaky bridge, after all. He has to do his part.

,

,

They might not meet in Barcelona after all.

Javier watches in horror as Yuzuru falls apart for all the world to see. Head bandaged and body torn up who knows where, he jumps, and falls. And he jumps again, and falls again. Javier wants to shout. Stop jumping, he wants to say. Stop trying; save yourself.

Yuzuru jumps to the bitter end.

The scores come in, and Yuzuru wrings a place on the podium. When he sees it, he collapses onto his knees, wracked in wrenching sobs as if he had lost the ground beneath his feet.

It makes Javier's heart clench. He wishes that he could be there to pull him up from the bloodied ice. That he could hold him, so the boy wouldn't have to hug himself and cry alone. That he knew what it was that made Yuzu claw and fight and cry as if the world was falling around him.

Yuzuru answers his texts later than usual that night. It's short, subdued, friendly. A happy emoji added to reassure him that he's okay. It's then that Javier realizes: even if they speak the same language, it's all useless if they don't speak the truth.

He wonders how many other times Yuzuru has lied for his sake.

,

,

He doesn't mean to beat Yuzuru. Javier's heart soars when he sees his scores, but sinks when Yuzuru comes to congratulate him, with a pale face and a brave smile.

"I'm happy for you," he says as Javier squeezes him, "I knew I'd lose. You did good, Javi."

He's smacking him in the back instead of hugging him tight, so Javier checks him over. "Have you been crying?"

"No," Yuzuru answers hurriedly, and gives a stubborn headshake. "No, really, I'm not crying. I'm not." His lips twist, and he pushes at his eyes with his hands. "I'm not."

"Hey, look at me." Javier pulls him in by the nape of his neck, and when Yuzuru relents and looks into his eyes, lips pulling but clenched into a smile, he can't help but break into a blinding smile of his own, because how can anyone not love this boy? "I may be the champion this time, but you will always be the champion in my heart.”

It's the closest thing to a confession he can safely say.

The boy cries freely then, clinging to him as if he's the only thing keeping him afloat. Javier holds him tight, shielding him from the flash of cameras and roar of the crowds, feeling a trembling heartbeat against his own and wishing that he could go on shielding him forever.

,

,

Javier breaks up with his girlfriend when they meet.

"It's not you," he says, tired. "I just…can't, right now."

She follows him to the rink, arguing. "Who's my competition?" she demands, and he wishes fondly that he had trained with her for all these years so he could fall in love with her instead.

But he can't. It's Yuzu who had held his hand while he uttered thoughts of defeat, Yuzu who had snuck in snacks for Javi in his training bag. Yuzu who had cried into his arms and laughed at his falls, cheered him on loudest in the rink. For years they had borne witness to each other's lonely tears and bitter triumphs, bleeding into each other's stories as they molded their art, and wasn't love the ultimate art, after all? Javier is young, but he knows that this is as constant as the air he breathes, the chill of ice beneath his feet. To rip out Yuzu from his heart is to rip out pages of his life, and he wouldn't know how to do that even if he wanted to.

"No competition," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Hanyu Yuzurudesho," she says, chillingly.

His stomach drops. He doesn't understand, and yet he understands, as she understands. What a small trifle languages were at the end of the day, when the heart was concerned.

She slaps him and leaves, and he turns, exhausted, to find Yuzuru standing behind him. His face is terrifyingly blank.

The air around them is charged again, urging a turn of the page. Javier is determined to stay it. "Don't worry about it," he preempts. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"Nothing…to do with me," Yuzuru says slowly.

Javier clears his throat. "Yup."

Yuzuru's face shifts, like a porcelain shell breaking to reveal thundering clouds beyond.

"Javi," he says, voice strangely tight. "You're so bad." He turns and disappears into the rink.

This time Javier is certain that he took a wrong step somewhere. He needs help retracing his steps, though, so he hurries inside in search of anyone that may help. What he finds instead is the Ice Queen, talking with her old coach.

"I'm not Japanese," Yuna says flatly as they sit in the break room where Javier pokes at a slice of vending machine cake. "Are you going to eat that?"

Javier has dipped his plastic fork in the crumbly tiramisu powder and written out "yuzuuuu" on the paper plate. He quickly scrubs it with a napkin. "And here I thought it was for me," Yuna says, and Javier wants to go crawl into a hole in the ice.

She at last takes pity. "He's hurt," she explains. "Koreans, we say it when we're mad at our boyfriend."

Javier has no idea what to say to that.

Yuna takes her fork, and gently nudges the cake back into a lump. "Doesn't mean you did bad," she says quietly. "Just, he maybe doesn't know how to say it differently."

She watches him knowingly, and the kindness of it uplifts his mood enough to spark a feeble hope. "Do you think he..?"

"Maybe you should let him beat you up," Yuna suggests. Javier stares in confusion, and she laughs. "In K-dramas, they do that. Then they eventually cry, while you hold them."

He wonders about her and her people then, the story of the little country that stubbornly clung to its identity in a history of invasions and colonization, where there is a special word for a deep-lingering sorrow that no other culture understands. A people who would rather fight than to admit to being hurt, with an unspoken grief that only lives in wailing songs. That grief perhaps lives in her blood, as it does in all of her people, and is perhaps still too near for them to fully forget, perhaps as near as Sochi. Yet she bows gracefully with her silver medal, donates her money to Yuzu's people, and stands on precarious ice like a splendid crystal, this magnanimous queen. He kisses her hand.

"See?" she says with a long-suffering look. "This is why you are bad."

He looks behind him to see Yuzuru whirl around and determinedly walk away from the break room.

,

,

If he's going to give a go at risking Yuzu's most precious friendship, he needs to be sure.

Javier googles Yuzuru's name in Japanese that night. The top auto-fill search term is "girlfriend" and "marriage". He auto-translates the articles. He wishes he hadn't.

As night deepens, he shuts the browser windows and presses his temples. He really should have learned Japanese. He could have spared himself this heartache years ago.

All that effort at building this bridge, and it turns out he never would have truly known Yuzuru anyway.

He trains with angry intensity, and Brian and Tracy whisper among themselves until Brian sends him away on a break. He watches Yuzuru laugh with Tracy. He's lanky and awkward and he's just, he's just a kid. Javier pushes his fists into his eyes. He's lost his goddamn mind.

"Are you okay?" Brian is looking down at him.

Yuzuru turns then, watching with unreadable eyes, and Javier remembers with breathtaking clarity why he had lost his wits the other night. No, Yuzuru is no kid – he's leaps and bounds above Javier, watching like a god, perfectly knowing, generously pretending.

Javier stands up so suddenly that he slips on the ice, and falls flat backwards.

Brian helps him up, and Tracy fusses about concussions. Yuzuru skates closer, keeping a careful distance, and Javier doesn't know if he hates Yuzuru, himself, or whatever fates have led them here. He retires for the day.

Then Yuzuru shows up at his door.

Javier lets him in, and regrets it as soon as Yuzuru reaches up to touch the bruise on his head. "It hurt a lot?"

"It's fine." Javier pulls away. "I just need a nap."

Yuzuru does not take the hint. His tentative fingers follow, and Javier intercepts his wrist. "Yuzu," he swallows, "this is a bad idea."

Yuzuru halts, searching his face in alarm.

"Not that I don't want to be with you," Javier says hurriedly, "but you know how I feel."

Yuzuru is silent. He slowly pulls his wrist from Javier's grip, and leaves without a word.

Javier spends the night staring at his ceiling. At least he finally has an answer, loud and clear. All that remains is to pick up the pieces. He dials his phone.

"I wasn't lying," he says to the tired silence on the other end. "He and I, we grew so close. Like soulmates. I can't do this without him. You have to know." He grits his teeth. "But if you'll have me, I'll still try."

She forgives him, after a long cry and a night of repeated promises. He puts down the phone at the break of dawn and rubs his temples, feeling old and weary.

To be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

Meet Me On The Bridge

by Kasmi Kassim

3. 

 

While the press is asking Javier about his love life, Javier catches sight of Yuzuru in a distance. He falters, and the reporters follow his gaze and start to turn.

“Yes!” he shouts.

The reporters all turn back to him.

He smiles. “I do have a girlfriend, actually.”

The questions begin anew. Javier expects Yuzuru to sneak away, but Yuzuru stands there, watching Javier with eyes black and unreadable. Javier tries to focus on the cameras, but is acutely aware of Yuzuru at the edge of his sight, constant and magnetic as the sun. He fights the urge to gravitate toward him, and smiles instead.

“She and I are serious,” he says.

Yuzuru turns around and leaves.

Javier wishes he could go back to a time when he could run after Yuzu without a second thought and demand why he isn’t happy for him. But he’s come too far for that. Yuzuru knows that they’ve come too far for that.

He watches Yuzuru walk away and tells himself that some bridges are better uncrossed.

,

,

Avoidance is a universal language. Or so he’d like to think, because he can’t find Yuzuru anywhere near him during the trip. Yuzuru keeps his distance on the ice, focused on his run-throughs, and it’s spectacular to watch. His eyes are distant and blazing, like he’s about to create another atom, and there is no room for anyone in his universe.

Javier is happy to watch. As long as Yuzu is happy. He really is.

But then he boards a bus, the seat next to him is mockingly empty, and Maia is hopping into it, and asking insensitive questions like “So Yuzuru’s engaged?”

“I don’t know,” he broods. He wishes people would stop asking him these things.

“But I thought you were really close?”

He had thought so too. He tries to push away the pinching in his chest. “You’d be surprised.”

Maia eyes him, and he pretends not to see, because he doesn’t know how to decipher Japanese-American side-eyes. He misses Yuzuru’s synchronous steps with his own, suddenly and terribly. He ducks his head and checks his phone.

“Well, if it helps you feel better,” she tosses her hair, “the top search terms for him in English is you. And bromance.” She gives a sly smile. “Skating wife, huh?”

He grunts, but can’t bring himself to truly regret it. There is safety in publicity, and if the society that claims to love Yuzu is cruel enough to refuse to see him for who he is, why shouldn’t Javi take advantage of that willing blindness?

Maia untangles herself from the seat and rises to head to the back of the bus. She hesitates. “Well, you know,” she says, “I wouldn’t really take those articles seriously.”

Hope roars into his veins.

She’s watching his reaction. “He’s idol-level popular, so people are gonna try to pair him up with whatever. Well, not whatever, but any girl, because you HAVE to be heterosexual, right?” she throws a humorless smile.

On the other side of hope is fear. He thinks resentfully of the harsh spotlight over Yuzuru’s narrow shoulders, a shadow stretched behind him for as long as he stands on that podium. The love of a people that refuses to let him love and be loved as he needs suddenly feels so cruel that it takes every ounce of willpower to remind himself that this is what Yuzuru wanted.

When he looks up, he finds Maia replaced by Yuzuru, settling into the seat next to him.

“Hey,” Javier says, wondering if it’s okay to touch his thigh as usual. “Long time no see.”

“Maia kick me out. Alex don’t protect me.” Yuzuru sulks. “Evil duo.”

“You hate sitting by me that much, huh?” The joke falls flat. Javier watches Yuzuru sink into the seat, hugging his bag. “Look, Yuzu, why are you avoiding me?”

Yuzuru keeps his gaze straight ahead, looking exactly as Javier did with Maia. “You wanted.”

“What? Why would I – no!”

“You said.” Yuzuru resolutely toys with a Pooh keychain on the bag zipper. “You kick me out.”

“What? What. No. Oh, Yuzu.” Javier pulls Yuzuru gently by the neck, and Yuzuru’s head goes dunking into his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what mean?” he demands, muffled, but not resisting.

“I was just,” Javier starts, and doesn’t know how to explain what Yuzuru already knows. “I just,” he pivots, miserably, “I just didn’t want your fiancée to get the wrong idea.”

Yuzuru pulls away. “Fiancée?” he frowns. “You reading Japan news?”

It’s Javier’s turn to toy with Yuzuru’s keychain. “Maybe.”

Yuzuru gives a big, tired sigh. “It’s lie. I don’t have.” He grasps the keychain, halting Javier’s fidgety fingers. “You believe?”

“Yeah, I did,” Javier mumbles.

“Why you didn’t ask?”

“I don’t know.” Relief bubbles from his chest, and life suddenly feels brighter. He entwines Yuzuru’s fingers with his. “I didn’t – I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”

Yuzuru’s face crumples. “Why I don’t want to talk to Javi? You know you’re favorite person.” He looks down at their hands. “You know my feeling.”

Javier sighs fondly. “I know. I was stupid. Sorry.”

Silence stretches as the bus chugs on. Yuzuru watches him with an impenetrable look. “Javi,” he says, hesitant. “Do you feel same? As before?”

Javier smiles. “I’m better now. I’m glad we can still be friends.” He squeezes Yuzuru’s hand.

Yuzuru’s face becomes smooth and blank. “Me too.”

Javier doesn’t know how to ask why his smile looks so pained. So he settles for holding Yuzuru’s hand throughout the ride, hoping it’s enough. When the bus stops, Maia and Alex pass by, shooting unimpressed looks, and Yuzuru bolts up to join them without a word.

,

,

Yuzuru is crashing.

Javier watches with surreal dread. After leading with a spectacular short program, Yuzuru is now spiraling out of control. Is this what happens to a sun that has burned too bright? It’s devastating, but he can’t look away. Yuzuru limps to the finish, congratulates Javier with a steady smile, and it all feels so wrong.

Yuzuru doesn’t answer his texts. Javier visits his room at night and is greeted by a bewildered Shoma. He turns around and heads back to the rink.

The night is chill, and the lights are stark upon the blinding ice. On it sits Yuzuru in skates, legs outstretched and shoulders hunched like a rag doll. Javier approaches him. “What are you doing?”

Yuzuru’s eyelashes tremble beneath his hair. Then Javier sees the swell on his ankle.

“Dios mio,” he breathes. Dropping to his knees, he pulls back Yuzuru’s pants and unveils bandages slashing his legs like scars. “You skated like this?” The joy of the gold feels bitter in his throat. “Never mind. Let’s get you out of here. Come on.” He rises, pulling at a limp arm.

“I’m retiring,” Yuzuru says to the ice.

Javier drops the arm.

Yuzuru looks up, and his face is so openly broken that Javier sinks back onto his knees.

“Look at me, Javi. I’m ruined. It hurts, always, everywhere.” Yuzuru hangs his head again. “Younger come up, with more quads, and I want to keep up, but I can’t. Keep trying and I ruin more.”

“And you still medal. Look at you.” Javier puts an arm around Yuzuru’s shoulder. “You’re just tired. You’ll get better. We have time until the Olympics.”

“I’m already Olympic champion.” Yuzuru’s lip quivers. “I won many titles after. I wanted to keep skating…but maybe I’m just greedy. Maybe want too much.” His voice breaks. “I always want too much.”

Javier pulls him to his heart. He knows the feeling.

Yuzuru pulls away and rubs his eyes, and fans them with flappy hands. “It’s okay,” he says, taking quick little breaths. “I should content. I’m lucky. Many my friends already retire. I’m just greedy.”

“Are you, though?” Javier hates seeing him so defeated. Yuzuru hates losing, and no one should be able to crush him like this, not even Yuzuru himself. “If you’re really content to retire, why are you out here hugging the ice and crying like your world just ended?”

He sees Yuzuru’s face, and realizes with horror that he had hit the nail on the head.

Yuzuru Hanyu is grieving a broken heart. The kind of grief that has made him buckle has to have been years in the making, to have sucked him dry and exhausted with pain until he’s chosen this night to end up crumpled on this lonely ice, trying to close that page in his book. Unheard. Unseen.

“Oh, Yuzu,” he breathes.

“I’m not crying,” is the broken reply as Yuzuru lets Javier pull him fiercely into his arms. A muffled wail at last rises into Javier’s shirt, hoarse with anguish. “Javi,” he sobs, “it’s all I have left.”

“That’s not true.” Javier swallows back tears. “You have me.”

“You’re not mine,” Yuzuru wails.

“Of course I am. I’m always your Javi.” He pulls back to brush away wet black hair, and sees broken stars. “Oh, Yuzu. Don’t quit, please. I need you.”

“No you don’t,” Yuzuru chokes. “You’re world champion.”

“How am I supposed to make it all the way to the Olympics without you?” He tenderly wipes Yuzuru’s tears.  “I made this my goal because of you, remember? Yuzu, I can’t do this without you.”

It’s a selfish request. He knows that Yuzuru does not need him. If anything, Javier Fernandez will only become a hindrance. But Yuzuru isn’t the only one who’s running out of time. And if this is the only way to be able to hold him, if only for a moment longer, he will be selfish.

Predictably, Yuzuru is unable to refuse him. He cries instead, and Javier holds him until melted ice soaks them both.

It’s past midnight when Yuzuru is finally limp in his arms, spent.

“Can you stand?”

Yuzuru hesitates. Javier nods. “That means no, then.” He strokes Yuzuru’s hair. “Okay, we’re going to sleep, and in the morning you’re gonna flaunt that shiny silver medal, and you’re gonna win your title back next year, and then together we’re gonna go to the Olympics, and stand on that podium together.” He threads his hands under Yuzuru and lifts him up.

Yuzuru does not protest as he’s carried off the ice. He leans his head against Javier’s shoulder, and by the time he’s set down on his feet, his eyes are glossy once more with unshed tears.

Shoma opens the door with bloodshot eyes. Yuzuru greets him softly, and collapses against the doorframe, so Javier heaves him up again and carries him to bed.

“Yuzukun,” Shoma says, looking between him and Javier. He looks heartbroken, and Javier can relate.

Yuzuru turns tear-shielded eyes to Shoma while Javier works on unlacing his shoes. “Owatta,” he murmurs. “Mo ii.”

“I’m gonna assume you thanked me for my services.” Javier manhandles Yuzuru until Shoma hurries to help take off Yuzuru’s jacket. “Do you need help washing up?”

Yuzuru shakes his head. Javier hesitates, and sits at his bedside. Yuzuru murmurs to Shoma, who reaches behind to help him sit up.

With a deep breath, Yuzuru looks at Javier. “Tomorrow I start again. Alone. From beginning.” He smiles, and it’s the bravest thing Javier has seen. “We go together, to Olympic. My only goal now.”

Javier squeezes his hand. “That’s my Yuzu.”

He does not speak of the tears that fall again despite the smile.

,

,

Yuzuru performs the Requiem at the gala. It is a song of loss. Javier breathes heavily while the skaters around him sniffle and Shoma watches with a grimace. Twenty-one-year-olds should not be performing like that.

When the crowd erupts, and the camera zooms to Yuzuru’s tears as he ends his performance, Javier realizes with sharp grief that things will never go back to how they were. Yuzuru is colored with heartbreak, Javier with bitter longing; their many years of friendship will never return, because they will never return to being who they were then. Despite Javier’s efforts, that page in their book has turned. He wonders then if Yuzuru also knows this, and a small part of his Requiem was saying good bye to the days of innocence.

He cries quietly backstage after all has been done.

,

,

Yuzuru wins the next World Championships.

“I told you last year, right? You remember?” Javier says, pulling him close, and Yuzuru lets himself smile, because he trusts Javi to be truly happy for him. It tickles Javier’s heart. He may have fallen off the podium, but Yuzu is beaming, bright as the sun, and it is enough. He speaks to the press with surprising composure, and turns when someone touches his arm.

Yuzu is there, warm and familiar and home, reaching above him to put a heavy golden medal around his neck.

The press falls silent. Then, exploding camera flashes.

“Thank you,” Yuzuru whispers in the erupting chaos. Javier responds by holding him tight, little warm breaths and heavy medal weight and wispy hair against his neck. Perhaps there are still things that they can trust each other to understand.

,

,

Apparently the boy knows no moderation, because he trains himself again into injury.

“It could be fine,” he says flippantly into the phone. “Or it could be career-ending.”

Javier doesn’t know how to answer.

Yuzuru sighs a little. “Ne, Javi,” he says, plaintive like a kid, “tell me something funny.”

“I’m not your monkey, you brat,” Javier says on autopilot, and hears a peal of laughter.

They talk on the phone often. When Yuzuru is feeling trapped and scared, he texts Javier, and Javier calls him as soon as his time frees up.

“I broke up,” he says one night, staring at the darkness of his room.

Yuzuru is silent. Then, carefully, “I had…nothing to do with it?”

Javier smiles a little. “Never.”

Yuzuru hesitates. “I’m sorry.”

Talking on the phone is hard. There are no physical cues to pick up, and they must rely on language alone. Thankfully, Yuzuru’s English is smooth enough for it to work, at least as far as Javier is concerned.

“Hey Yuzu,” Javier says quietly. The room is dark, their laughter easy, the silence stretched thin. He feels brave. Perhaps it’s the stillness of the hour. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yup.”

“Are you still in love?”

Yuzuru is silent. Then, like a wispy sigh, “I’m trying not to.”

Javier closes his eyes. “Can we talk? When we meet at the airport.”

“Okay,” Yuzuru says after a pause. He doesn’t ask what it’s about. Javier has a feeling that he already knows.

,

,

The airport is loud. Javier herds Yuzuru to a corner, shielding him from the noise. “See you at the Olympics?”

Yuzuru smiles. “Javi,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I want to talk first.”

“Okay.”

Yuzuru takes Javier’s hand between his own and sandwiches it. He looks up, looking brave and vulnerable.

“I want to thank you,” he says. “For up to now.”

Javier’s heart crashes in his ears. It sounds like a good bye.

Yuzuru looks at peace. “My feelings haven’t changed,” he says. He smiles, serene, and Javier is marooning in silence.

Of course. Yuzuru knew what he was going to try to say. He’s turning him down again, ever so eloquent.  Yuzuru had always been outpacing him, and now he is so far ahead that there is no longer a bridge to cross.  

He has lost his Yuzu.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

He should not have hoped. He should not have made it obvious that he hoped. He knew that Yuzuru didn’t feel that way, and still he pushed, and now Yuzuru had lost his Javi, and will have no one to hold while when he cries alone. “I’m sorry, Yuzu,” he breathes, and his voice thickens with tears. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Yuzuru’s bright face ices over. He watches without a word as Javier tries not to cry, and closes his eyes. He takes a shaky breath. “It’s okay,” he says, forcing a smile. “I’m used to it. I understand.”

He leaves with a hug, with a quick pat on his back. He doesn’t look back as he disappears down the escalator.

Javier’s only comfort is that Yuzu is adult enough to know how to go forward. Because Javier sure doesn’t.

,

,

**To Be Continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! (dies)


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_Meet Me On The Bridge_ **

**_By Kasmi Kassim_ **

**4.**

 

When they meet again, it’s as if nothing had changed.

“Javi!”

“Yuzu!”

They throw themselves into each other’s arms. Maia laughs, Shoma politely looks away, and Patrick rolls his eyes with “get a room, you two”.

After hoisting Yuzuru up by the waist and spinning him around, to which Yuzuru responds with graceful, feminine poses to everyone’s amusement, Javier writes down his room number for Yuzuru. Per tradition, the latter shows up with a hacked videogame to watch the cutscenes together, because “it has a great love story”. Javier can see that it’s going to be a sad ending.

“Why is he kissing her,” he complains. “She’s crying. How is kissing her going to make her feel better about dying.”

Yuzuru elbows him. “Javi stupid. Watch.”

With his arm around bony shoulders and slippery hair tickling his neck, it feels like home. They speak idly of the festivities, their colleagues, and how nice it is to all be together again. Yuzuru mourns the inevitable departure of whom he considers fellow warriors. “I’m left on battleground,” he says.

“You’ll have Shoma,” Javier counters, and keeps the topic off of himself, because of course Yuzuru is in denial about Javi’s age. “And Boyang, and Nathan –”

“Nathan don’t like me,” Yuzuru laments.

“He’s just repressed.”

“I don’t know what that mean.” Yuzuru brightens. “I want you and Shoma to win with me. My favorites.”

“I have competition? I’m hurt.”

“Ah, Javi,” Yuzuru snickers, “You know you’re my favorite.” He pokes at Javier’s side, and Javier tackles him in retaliation, and soon it’s an all-out tickle war because Yuzuru hates losing and Javier is merciless.

They eventually fall quiet, limbs entangled with Javier sprawled on top. He looks down at Yuzuru, warm and heaving beneath him with messy hair and a happy smile, and time trickles to gentle stillness. He will never have this moment again. He will never love like this again.

Yuzuru wraps his arms around Javier and hums. “My Javi.”

Javier lowers his head and presses his lips to Yuzuru’s.

It’s easy, natural as the shifting of sands. He basks in the golden warmth, brief and eternal, and then his mind comes back online to find Yuzuru staring at him.

“Oh my god,” Javier breathes.

Yuzuru’s face cracks, and it’s a devastating collapse. Javier scrambles off in horror. “I’m so sorry, I don’t – I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s okay.” Yuzuru leaps to his feet without meeting his eyes. “I’m going now.”

Yuzuru doesn’t tell Javier that he is bad. He doesn’t smack him or laugh. He leaves without a word, and the room feels suddenly cold and empty.  Javier considers going to the rink to throw himself headfirst into the ice, or running around the Olympic Village screaming, but settles for watching the rest of the game Yuzuru had brought. It’s the closest things he’s got.

And when the lovers are parted and the story ends, Javier lowers his head onto his knees and wishes that the story wasn’t so mockingly familiar.

,

,

Yuzu is hard to catch on the ice.  

“Yuzu, I’m sorry,” he tries as a black stick figure zips by. “It won’t happen again.”

“I know.” Yuzuru’s voice trails after him. “It was a mistake. I get it.”

Javier sits numbly on the locker room bench afterwards.

It’s unlike him to be so unforgiving. After all those years of knowing, and being kind and patient, why now?

The news channel is blaring on about medals and hopefuls and then there is Yuzuru, of course, Yuzuru everywhere. “How do you say ‘thank you for supporting’?” Yuzuru asks the Korean reporter, and bobs his head with an “ungwon gamsahamnida”.

Javier stares resentfully. If Yuzu wasn’t like this, how many people would still love him? How many had slashed his heart until he learned to become perfect, bigger than life? Javier knows Yuzuru too well to believe that he’s grateful for the stalkers on the bus, the mobs outside his home, the ambushes on his sister. The projection of the people within his country, and the fetishization of the people without. Yet to save face, he must keep the peace, mustn’t he? So he works his magic on and off the ice, endlessly making believe, creating the illusion that he is grateful to take anything thrown at him and mold it into goodness. Packaged in humility’s dressing, he has polished himself into a shapeshifter of others’ will, ready to roll in directions of others’ choosing.

Javi had never forced him to do that – had he?

Javier blinks at the TV. He knows that when the cameras aren’t rolling, Yuzu’s laughter is louder, his shoulders looser, his movements more childlike. And yet.

He still holds out his hands behind him for Javi to hold. He goes after Shoma to torment him when the younger boy stands alone and lost. He hugs a stiff Nathan and a fumbling Boyang, throws jokes at Patrick in broken English. He’s always been crossing that bridge first, bright and open and brave.

He has always –

Javier sits up.

What if all this time –

He crashes out of the locker room, almost stabbing Patrick’s foot with his toe pick.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he blurts at Yuzuru’s sideway blur. Yuzuru’s pace falters, and Javier catches up. “I wanted to kiss you.”

Yuzuru sharply halts, leaving Javier trailing ahead. Javier turns and glides back to see Yuzuru looking down at the ice, hands on his hips and shoulders heaving. “Why,” Yuzuru says, low and ominous, “why do you play with me.”

Javier’s heart leaps to his throat. Everything is falling into place, gentle and ecstatic, and he feels like running at white-hot speeds to where Yuzu had been waiting for him all these years on that lonely bridge. He wants to shout for all the world to hear –

“I love you,” he says, and his heart feels cracked open, spilling light.

Yuzuru starts, and backs away to the rink walls. Javier follows and stands at his side as Yuzuru drapes himself over the foam. “If this is about the – what happened,” Yuzuru says, “I’ve forgot it. So you can stop.”

Javier’s heart flips, erratic with joy. “But I don’t want you to.”

Yuzuru’s fingertips are white on the wall. “No.”

Javier blinks.

“No.” Yuzuru draws himself up. “I can’t,” he breathes, “I can’t do this with you.”

Javier’s world begins to pale. This can’t be right.

“But I love you,” he says, sounding stupid to his own ears.

Yuzuru looks at him then, and his eyes are colliding stars. “You say this now?” he hisses. “After you see me confess, cry for you, reach for you, tell you over and over? After you see me giving you up? After,” he pants, closing his eyes.

Javier can’t find his words. The ground is dissolving beneath his feet.

“No, Javi.” Yuzuru pushes off the wall. “I’m done.”

Javier clutches his arm in panic. He’s losing all of him, friendship and all, and he’s drowning. “Please,” he begs, “Yuzu, please don’t – I can’t do this without you.”

Yuzuru looks down at Javier’s hand, and pulls away. “I can.”

,

,

Javier understands when he watches the Ballade.

Yuzuru’s eyes are soft and distant. They don’t seek a different world as with Romeo and Juliet; they don’t shimmer with grief as with Requiem. They look into a different world, complete and made, and he dances to gentle dreams that no one else need fathom. His grace belies his power, and he moves with sensuality polished by grief that simmers deep and invisible, long reborn as beauty.

Yuzu is right. He doesn’t need Javi. Not anymore.

The audience erupts. Yuzuru claps with composure, utterly at peace with his place in the world. He has shed the boy that had cried alone on the ice that night, now risen transcendent. There is no room for Javi there.

It’s when he sees Nathan fall that Javier jolts back to himself. Yuzuru may not have done it for him, but he still kept his promise. It is Javier’s turn to deliver.

He balances on the ice with grim resolve. This is more than a competition; it’s more than a medal for Spain. It’s an ode to their boyhood and its sparkling days. Whatever crossed paths they have taken to coming here, they have reached the destination of their shared dream, and their story must have an ending.

It’s surprisingly easy to go to a place of his own, a happier place of laughter and joy. When he comes to, Yuzuru’s eyes are glossy with tears. Javier looks at the roaring audience, at Yuzuru’s clapping, and knows that Yuzu also understands. He takes this comfort with him as he holes himself up for the evening while Adam circles the halls for an expedition to free McDonalds.

“After today’s performance, I feel mentally powerful,” Yuzuru says serenely in the TV. “The pressure gives me strength.”

Javier stares. Yuzu is so far ahead of him again, distant and blazing bright, and the longer Javier looks, the more he is reminded that for all his gravitating, he will never reach him at his solitary heights. Javier reminds himself to be glad, and turns off the TV.

,

,

Hunger leaves him wandering the halls late in the evening. He finds Yuna at the elevator, wrapped in ethereal white and crystal blue. She scans him up and down as he greets her. “You know McDonalds do deliveries in Korea, right?”

He did not know that. Yuna takes him to the hotel bar. She’s an angel.

They sit together as he rambles. She has a quiet laugh, unlike Yuzuru’s loud, unbridled laugh. Unlike Yuzuru’s childlike antics, she is composed with grace. And yet, beneath her silver surface is steel forged in tears and fire, and he sees a future Yuzuru Hanyu, whole and complete, in her quiet poise. He drowns himself in drinks before the food arrives.

“Oh my god, I’m not even Japanese,” Yuna says at the chandelier after he has spent half an hour blabbing about the videogame Yuzu brought him, did she know that there’s a character called Yuna, she’s a magical wizard person loved by her people and she sacrifices her love and life for them and – “What do you need?”

“Yuuuuuzu,” Javier mumbles into his cup.

“Obviously.” Yuna sips her drink.

His phone is vibrating, but he doesn’t care. Everyone is out “eating McDonalds” anyway. He wonders how easy it would be; everyone in the bar is young, fit, and good looking. And he’s reasonably good looking, and well, he just got rejected, didn’t he?

He wonders if Yuzuru ever thought about it. Yuzuru, young and bouncy and beautiful and loved, pulled into the bed of any partner of his choosing. Yuzuru, his lithe body glistening with sweat, his face contorting with honest passion –

“How bad is it to be gay in Japan?” he blurts. Was that too vulgar? He decides to blame the drinks.

Yuna blinks. “A little better than Korea, so.” She eyes him. “Not great?”

“But they adore him.”

Yuna smiles a little. “They own you; you owe them.” She takes a swig.

He looks at Yuna, and remembers that she was Yuzu’s hero. Did Yuna ever have a Javi of her own? Or did she have to carry the weight of her people’s hopes alone until they broke her wings and she stepped off that lonely podium? He wonders if the Ice Queen will ever be free to love. She doesn’t divulge whom she came to visit, but he can guess. He clasps her hand in silent sympathy. She stomps on his foot in response.

He follows her gaze, and at the entryway stands Yuzuru, foot halted mid stride. He turns and walks away.

It’s Yuna who breaks the terrified silence. “If this were a K-drama,” she says, “you would follow him.”

“But he’s Japanese.” Javier checks his phone nonetheless.

“If this were an anime,” Yuna says, sounding more tired by the second, “you would follow him and let him slap you.”

“But he said that’s a stereoty—” it then hits him. “Wait, do you think..?”

Yuna sighs up at the chandelier. “Why me, I’m not even Japanese,” she mutters.

,

,

[Javi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I want to be friends.]

[Good job on the short program, Javi! I’m so proud of you~]

[Javi, are you resting? Did you eat?]

[Javi did you go out?]

[I’m hungry Javi~! Let’s go eat.]

[If you already ate, take me out ice cream.]

[Are you with the others? Sneak away and bring food.]

[Javi? Are you okay?]

[Javi, are you mad at me?]

[Javi, I’m coming to check you.]

[Javi, answer the door. Or else I’m gonna call concierge.]

[Javi…are you with someone?]

[Javi--]

,

,

Yuna walks him back to his hotel room. Javier mumbles incoherently the entire way, bemoaning his fate and occasionally shouting Spanish profanities, but mostly rambling about Yuzu’s adorable face and his sexy collarbones and huggable little body and –

“Aigo, baboya,” Yuna says, and unceremoniously dumps him at the door. “Drink some water and wake up.”

Probably a translation of a common Korean phrase, Javier guesses. Even with her smooth English, there are holes and gaps. So how much of Yuzuru had he been missing all this time? It hurts to think of all the might-have-beens.

“Try playing that game in Japanese,” Yuna says, long-suffering. “Poor Yuzu, you’re still stupid.” She pounds on his door and leaves, mumbling about non-alcoholic drinks.

Confused, he stands to lean on the wall. What’s in the Japanese version of the game? He can guess. They probably suffer an even sadder parting. Or perhaps they have to hide their love for the sake of the people that claim to love them? He isn’t sure he can take such insult to injury, but he knows that he’s an incorrigible sap and will probably look it up online as soon as he enters his room. He fishes for his key card, but the door swings open, and Yuzuru stands in sweat pants, naked shoulders gleaming white under blinding Korean lamps.

Yuna had dumped him at Yuzuru’s door.

Before he can react with proper horror, Yuzuru leans against the doorframe. “What do you want?”

Like the split turn of an ice blade, Javier decides. They’re at the Olympics, after all, where hopes are dashed and the impossible are achieved. “I want to talk.”

“Talk?” Yuzuru’s voice is oddly stilted. “You done ‘talking’ to the Queen? You say you love me for years and then I say no and you already have someone—”

“What? No, Yuzu – no, that’s—”

“—so I see you like Asian, not just Japanese,” Yuzuru says, still crooked. “I think there’s a word for that.”

“No!” Javier hits the wall. “Let me in,” he breathes. “Please.”

Yuzuru stands firm. Javier half expects him to kick him out, but then Yuzuru steps aside.

Javier enters, knowing that this is a Bad Idea. But it’s the last one he’s got. He turns to face Yuzuru. The air trembles hot with anticipation, and Javier knows that neither of them knows how to turn this page unwounded. But it must be done. All he can do is cross this bridge and hope that Yuzuru meets him there, one last time.

“Do you have anything to tell me, Yuzu?”

Yuzuru stays defiantly silent.

Javier’s heart falters. “I love you,” he pushes on. “I have always loved you. I just wanted you to know.”

“Just wanted…me to know,” Yuzuru says blankly.

“I’m sorry.” Javier whispers, courage spent. “I’ll go.”

Yuzuru stares at him, and Javier wonders whether things would have been different had he realized sooner. Whether his Yuzu would have grown to gaze at him with wrath in his eyes and frost in his voice if he hadn’t cried those lonely nights, all those years.

But in the end, the past is what has shaped his Yuzu, and Javier cannot undo those pages in Yuzu’s book any more than he can rip out Yuzu from his.

“We’ll forget this happened.” He tries to smile, and understands at last why Yuzuru had always smiled at him like this. The thought tightens his chest. “I was just drunk and came to make a scene and – we’ll go back to how we were.” He flees to the door, eager to relieve the boy of the suffering he no longer deserves. “Good night, Yuzu.”

“Why did you come?” Yuzuru’s voice catches him, sharp and trembling. Javier turns, and Yuzuru’s eyes are like shattered stars. “Why did you come just to do this?”

“I’m sorry,” Javier says, and he really is. He wishes he could reverse time, but he can’t, so he must go forward, and trust Yuzuru to go forward, because if anyone can turn heartbreak into bitter triumph, it’s Yuzu. Javier smiles, grateful and breathlessly proud that his Yuzu is strong like that. “I hope you win tomorrow.”

“Why sorry?” Yuzuru explodes. “Why sorry if this is what you want? Why do you keep doing,” he stops to swallow a sob. “Why do you,” he chokes, “do this to me?” He closes his eyes, and pushes them with his hands. “Why,” he says, voice broken, and tears continue to fall.

Javier watches Yuzuru, tall and sharp and angled, a far cry from the boy he had once held in his arms, and realizes that this is the end. There is no page after this one. Their journey together will be over after tomorrow, with no redemption for all the chances missed. The finality of Yuzuru’s years of pain blackens his vision. “I’m sorry, Yuzu,” he whispers, and tears dampen his voice. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

He wishes he could hold him again, comfort him as he once had, but that place is no longer his. Javier hates himself the moment he closes the door to Yuzuru crying under the lonely lamplight.

Perhaps the Ice Queen wasn’t right about this, after all.

,

,

Yuzuru is cold and pale as he warms up.  Javier reaches out to grasp his hands.

“You can do it,” he whispers, and Yuzuru’s eyes flicker toward him for the first time that day. “You’ll do great.” Without me, he whispers to himself, but Yuzuru doesn’t need the reminder.

Yuzuru performs his defiant answer. His gaze cuts through muddled fog, fingers rousing stillness to life, and he commands the world to bend to his will as he molds creation from his steps. The crowd roars in ecstasy. Tracy tells him not to look, and Javier doesn’t intend to – he knows that if he sees Yuzuru taking that exalted bow, he will fall in love all over again.

He readies himself. Yuzuru comes to him, and opens his arms uncertainly. Javier meets him halfway.

“Go and win,” Yuzuru whispers. He pulls back, and smacks his back frantically with a shaky smile. “Vamos, Javi!”

Spain is watching. His coaches are watching. Yuzuru is watching. Yuzuru, who had cried for his loss of the medal last time. Yuzuru, who had delivered his part of the promise. Yuzu, whom Javier can’t let down again. Never again.

Javier begins.

Victory is far. He knows midway through the program that he will not make it to the top. He hadn’t expected to anyway, for he had himself hoped for the return of the king. And hoped that maybe, he would be able to share that throne with him, one last time.

One last time, with Yuzuru’s shining smile, unclouded by grief.

He climbs to the podium, where Yuzuru is sending off a stiff Nathan with kind words and a hug. Then Yuzuru sees Javier, and springs up from the seat and launches himself into Javier’s arms.

It’s as if all those years have come flooding back. Yuzu, tall and strong Yuzu, folding himself to fit neatly into Javier’s chest as he always had, shaking like a baby bird. Javier whispers that it’s a happy day, Yuzu, no more tears – but Yuzuru cries and cries, falling apart seam by seam, competition by competition, a bitter tear and lonely fight at a time in his Javi’s arms, and Javier understands that Yuzu is crying for him, for both of them, so he holds him and smiles and whispers and wonders how he will manage to ever stop loving him.

Shoma wrings the silver, kicking Boyang off the podium. Little fighter Shoma, silent and solid as a rock by Yuzuru’s side. Javier is glad to be leaving him with Yuzu.

“You take care of him,” he says, and Shoma nods as if understanding. Javier wonders why it has become so hard, even with the shared language between himself and Yuzuru. But their story is done, and the ending wasn’t quite so bad, was it?

He had timed his announcement to the peak of elation to soften the tumble of loss. He doubts it is necessary, but he waits nonetheless until Yuzuru is dizzy at glory’s height, and brings him into his arms with Shoma as a buffer.

He had counted on Yuzuru’s triumph for this plan to succeed, and Yuzuru had delivered. It is now his turn to deliver.

It fails.

“Ooooo, Javi!” Yuzuru starts to smack him in the back as soon as “my last Olympics” is murmured. “You’re so bad!”

Javier knows this motion. He tightens his grip on Yuzuru’s shoulder, and Shoma lifts his gaze, knowing. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

Yuzuru’s face is contorting. “I,” he says, shaking his head. “I,” he chokes, and grabs Javier’s shoulder and begins shaking it furiously.

Panic heats his veins. This is not how he’d envisioned this. “Yuzu, please—”

“No!” Yuzuru breaks violently away, collapsing onto a wall. Javier reels him back, shielding him from the flash of cameras and intrusion of mics.

“You’re fine,” he all but begs. “Please, Yuzu, you don’t need — you’re fine without me, remember? You said you could-”

“No,” Yuzuru heaves, and finally collapses onto Javier’s shoulder, drained of all fight. “I can’t,” he sobs, as if a dam had broken, “I can’t do this without you.”

Javier feels dizzy.

The flashes are bursting, mics chirping, and Javier closes his eyes to the deafening roar. They’re at the end of their journey, and it’s the Olympics after all. He decides to be brave, one more time.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Yuzuru’s cries begin anew, and his body caves. He clings to Javier, as he had clung to him all those years ago, letting him hold his trembling heart in his hands, and it is enough. Javier thanks Yuzuru for crossing this bridge by kissing his hair.

The cameras and the medal and the scores all fade into an echo. There is only Yuzu, laughing and crying and holding him, and Javier has the world.

,

,

**_The End_ **

,

,

She runs toward the young man and launches herself into his arms, only to fall through his transparent body and collapse onto the floor. The man begins to cry.

She quietly rises, and without looking at him, squares her shoulders. “Arigatou,” she whispers.

Yuzuru stops the video and bawls.

“But that wasn’t the English translation!” Javier protests while rubbing circles around his waist. “That’s not fair! The English version said ‘I love you’!”

“Javi stupid.” Yuzuru glares with puffy eyes. “You call me wife and you don’t know my culture?”

Javier groans. “Oh my god, you read those interviews.”

Yuzuru manages to sniffle and snicker at the same time. “You’re not only one reading other language news.”

“Fair,” Javier agrees easily, and kisses Yuzuru’s temple. Yuzuru ducks his head, curling up closer to Javier on the couch.

“So,” Javier whispers, “say it to me in a language I’d understand.”

Yuzuru reddens. “But too cheese,” he complains. “Cheese-it? Cheesy.”

Javier brings Yuzuru closer. “Tell me,” he whispers.

Yuzuru buries his head in Javier’s shoulder with a muffled murmur. Javier laughs.

Perhaps not all things in life are free. But for now, life is perfect.

 ,

, 

_**The End, For Real** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was spawned as a backstory for the 5 seconds of the "I can't do this without you" fancam. I had no idea who these people were before watching the Long Program in the PyeongChang Olympics, and then I saw the fancam and needed to do a quick word vomit, which turned into a 4-part monster, and all the kind comments compelled me to put more effort as the chapters wore on. I hope the ending was satisfactory! I tend to get really anxious and cynical about my writing so I really appreciate all the kind comments. Thank you!
> 
> For anyone interested in Shoma's perspective through the whole thing, [Road to You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250429/chapters/32863119) is a spinoff from his POV.


End file.
